The first light of dawn painted the sky in pink and gold as Eamon slipped quietly out of his family's cottage. The village of Stonebridge was marred by an uneasy silence, save for the distant crowing of a rooster. Ever since his return from the ruins, tension had settled over the village. Whispered conversations stopped when he approached, and wary glances followed him wherever he went. The once-familiar warmth of home now felt strained, shadowed by suspicion and fear.

  Pulling his cloak tighter against the crisp air, Eamon made his way toward the Whispering Woods—his secret refuge where he could practice magic away from prying eyes. The isolation weighed on him, but he had little choice. His friends had noticed his frequent absences, and their confused, hurt expressions gnawed at his conscience. He hadn't meant to push them away, but how could he explain the changes happening within him?

  Reaching the small clearing he'd claimed as his own, Eamon sat on the familiar fallen log, a makeshift seat that had served him well over the past few days. He had been coming here whenever he could, spending hours trying to grasp the basics of magic—starting with simple things like moving leaves and stirring the air.

  Today, he intended to push himself further.

  Taking a deep breath, Eamon closed his eyes and let his mind quiet. He had learned over the past sessions that magic wasn't something he could force; it required patience and precision. The golden stone, warm against his chest, pulsed faintly, as if encouraging him to continue.

  "Alright," he murmured, centering himself. "Let's try again."

  The process of drawing mana had become more familiar. Carefully, he reached out to the mana in the surroundings, coaxing it towards him. The now-familiar warmth spread through him, tingling at his fingertips. When he opened his eyes, he focused on a dry leaf lying nearby.

  The leaf floated briefly in the air, responding to his will, before gently settling back to the ground. He smiled at the progress, even if it was small.

  Yet Eamon wasn't satisfied. He wanted more—something practical, something that could help him in dangerous situations. Inspired by stories of warriors who moved faster than the eye could follow, Eamon wondered if he could use the wind to enhance his own speed.

  "Maybe I can use the wind to carry me," he mused, pacing back and forth.

  The idea excited him, but he knew it was far more complex than making a leaf float. He spent the next several hours experimenting, trying to summon enough wind to lighten his steps. The mana responded, but it was a slow and delicate process, and the energy drained him quickly. Each attempt left him breathing heavily, fatigue creeping in, but Eamon pushed on.

  By mid-afternoon, sweat trickled down his brow as he finally felt a small surge of wind beneath him. He had concentrated his mana into a controlled burst, enough to lighten his step, making him feel almost weightless for a brief moment.

  Encouraged, Eamon continued to refine the technique, practicing until the movements became smoother. Each attempt yielded more consistent results—he could feel the wind helping him along, pushing him forward with each step. The first few times, the wind was either too strong or too weak, sending him stumbling or barely making a difference.

  Determined, he pressed on. As the sun began its descent, turning the sky a rich orange, Eamon finally managed to strike a balance. He released just enough mana to propel him forward without losing his footing. His steps became quicker, his movements lighter, and the wind seemed to respond as an extension of his body.

  He tried again, this time running along the edge of the clearing. The wind surged beneath his feet, and suddenly he was moving faster than ever before. The feeling was exhilarating, like the wind itself was carrying him.

  "This feels incredible," he muttered.

  The words had barely left his lips when a soft chime echoed in his ears. Startled, Eamon looked up to see a faintly glowing, translucent window appear before him. His heart skipped a beat.

  The glowing text read:

  Windstride (Active)

  Harness the power of wind to enhance your movement. Windstride increases your speed dramatically for short bursts, allowing you to dash across terrain with unparalleled agility. This skill turns every step into a gust of wind, making you swift and difficult to track. Perfect for evading attacks, covering ground quickly, or surprising enemies with sudden speed. Extended use drains stamina, and improper control may lead to loss of balance.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Eamon blinked in surprise, staring at the floating text. "Did it just give it a name?"

  He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe a break is in order," he chuckled to himself, sitting on a moss-covered rock by the stream's edge.

  He cupped his hands in the water, splashing his face and enjoying the refreshing sensation. As he rested, he couldn't help but reflect on how far he'd come in such a short time.

  "Who would have thought?" he mused. "A blacksmith's apprentice dabbling in magic."

  Yet, a flicker of doubt crept in. He was diving into unknown territory, with no mentor to guide him and no knowledge of the potential dangers. The golden stone had been both a blessing and a mystery, and he wondered what secrets it still held.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of familiar voices. He listened intently—recognizing the laughter and chatter of his friends.

  "Maeve? Tomas?" he murmured, a pang of guilt twisting in his chest.

  Curiosity drew him back toward the village. As he approached the edge of the forest, he saw his friends gathered by the riverbank, skipping stones across the water's surface.

  "Eamon!" Maeve's voice rang out, though less bright than usual as she spotted him emerging from the trees. "There you are."

  He raised a hand in greeting, his smile hesitant. "Hey."

  Tomas looked up, his expression guarded. "Haven't seen you around much lately."

  "Yeah," Eamon replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been... busy with chores."

  "Chores that keep you away all day?" Donnel added, his tone laced with a hint of hurt.

  Eamon shifted uncomfortably. "It's been a hectic time."

  An awkward silence settled over them. Maeve's gaze searched his face. "Is everything alright? You can talk to us, you know."

  He wanted to tell them, to share the burden of his secret, but fear held him back. "I'm fine, really," he said, forcing a reassuring smile. "Just a lot on my mind."

  Before anyone could respond, a familiar, mocking voice cut through the air.

  "Well, isn't this a touching reunion."

  Eamon's jaw clenched as Callum sauntered over, flanked by his usual cronies. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight.

  "What do you want, Callum?" Maeve snapped, glaring at him.

  Callum smirked. "Just checking on our village outcast. Heard you've been sneaking off into the woods. Up to no good, I bet."

  Eamon felt anger flare within him. "Mind your own business."

  "Oh, but it is my business," Callum retorted. "Everyone knows you're trouble. Ever since you came back from those ruins, strange things have been happening. People are scared."

  "That's enough," Tomas interjected, stepping between them.

  But Callum ignored him, eyes locked on Eamon. "Maybe we should teach you a lesson. Put you in your place."

  Eamon's fists tightened. Memories of the villagers' suspicious glances and his friends' distant gazes fueled the fire inside him. "Try it."

  Callum's grin widened. "Gladly."

  He lunged forward without warning, throwing a punch aimed at Eamon's face. Instinct kicked in. Eamon felt a surge of mana flow through him as he subtly activated Windstride. The world didn't slow, but his reflexes sharpened. He tilted his head just enough for the fist to graze past his ear.

  Callum stumbled, surprised by the miss. He recovered quickly, scowling. "Stand still!"

  He swung again, this time aiming for Eamon's ribs. Eamon sidestepped smoothly, the wind aiding his movements. To the onlookers, it seemed he was just more agile than Callum.

  "Fight back, coward!" Callum spat, frustration evident in his voice.

  Eamon's anger simmered. "You're the one who can't land a hit," he replied coolly.

  The other kids murmured. Some chuckled at Callum's failed attempts, further fueling his humiliation.

  "Hold him!" Callum barked at his cronies.

  They hesitated but moved to flank Eamon.

  One crony lunged, attempting to grab Eamon's arm. Eamon ducked under his grasp, using a gentle push to send the boy off balance. Another came from behind, but Eamon pivoted, his footwork precise, causing the attacker to collide with his companion.

  Tomas watched in awe. "Since when did Eamon get so quick?"

  Callum's face turned red with rage. "Enough of this!"

  He charged at Eamon with a roar. Eamon braced himself, the wind swirling subtly around his feet. As Callum closed in, Eamon sidestepped and extended his leg slightly. Callum tripped over Eamon's foot, crashing hard onto the ground.

  Laughter erupted from the crowd. Maeve covered her mouth, eyes wide.

  Callum scrambled to his feet, mud smeared across his clothes. Humiliation and fury contorted his features. "You think this is funny?" he shouted at the onlookers. "He's mocking all of us!"

  "You're the one who started it," Donnel called out.

  Callum's eyes darted around, realizing he was losing the crowd. Desperate, he pointed a finger at Eamon. "He's not normal! No one moves like that!"

  Eamon felt a chill. He had been careful, but had he revealed too much?

  "Maybe you're just clumsy," Tomas retorted, stepping up beside Eamon.

  Callum's eyes narrowed, shifting between Eamon and the rest. "This isn't over," he hissed before turning on his heel and stalking away, his followers trailing behind.

  An uneasy silence settled over the group. Eamon could feel his friends' gazes on him, a mix of awe and curiosity.

  "Seriously, how did you do that?" Donnel asked.

  Eamon forced a casual shrug. "I guess I've been practicing more than I realized."

  Maeve studied him closely. "There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

  He avoided her eyes. "Just trying to push my limits."

  Sensing his reluctance, she let it drop. "Well, whatever you're doing, it's impressive."

  "Thanks," he said quietly.

  But inside, a knot of worry tightened. "I should get back to the forge."

  "Already?" Tomas asked. "The day's still young."

  "Master Rowan will be expecting me," Eamon lied. "I'll see you all later."